Tag to Chimera. I don't own NCIS or MW would be hanging off something every week.

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The satellite image screen suddenly filled with flame as a missile struck the Chimera. Jenny's mouth dropped open as she witnessed the destruction of the ship.

"Tell me you didn't just do that," said Shepard. Skinner looked away, unable to meet the grief and anger in her eyes.

"The decision was out of my hands, Director. We could not allow that material to be stolen…"

"But you could let five of my agents die?" She demanded.

"It's… possible there were survivors, Director. We'll do a thorough sweep of the area as soon as the support ship gets there…"

"Special Agent Gibbs barely survived his second explosion last year. Dr Mallard is sixty two years old and Special Agent DiNozzo once almost died from pneumonic plague. Even if they somehow survived the blast, they won't last more than a few minutes in the water. Special Agent McGee and Officer David perhaps a little longer. What am I supposed to tell their families?"

"The same as I have to tell Takada's family, Director. They died during a classified operation, serving their country."

"They weren't serving their country, Commander. They were betrayed by it."

"Director, the small attack craft is moving away from the Chimera."

"The intruders got away?" Said Skinner, horrified, grabbing for his cell. "I've got to scramble an attack helo…"

"Wait. Can you get a better image of the people in the boat, Tom?"

"Yes, Director," he replied, typing rapidly.

The picture zoomed in and became clearer. As they watched, the figure piloting the boat reached across and smacked one of his companions on the head. Jenny smiled.

McGee turned to look in the same direction. "I don't see anything," he said.

"That's because you spend too much time indoors staring at computer screens and typewriters, McGeek."

"At least I don't panic when someone mentions the words the word bug and rat in the same sentence," muttered McGee resentfully.

Gibbs smacked him on the head. "He had the damn plague, McGee. Lay off."

"Thank you, boss," said Tony, triumphantly.

"Tony's right," said Ziva, squinting in the direction he was looking. "There is a ship coming. You have exceptional eyesight."

"Twenty ten; same as one of the finest players in the history of baseball…"

"Hey, DiNozzo! Give your mouth a rest and keep your exceptional eyes on that ship. I'm not gonna approach until I'm sure she's one of ours."

"One of ours just blew up the ship we're supposed to be on, Jethro," said Ducky. "Can we trust them not to fire on us?"

"What choice d'we have, Duck? This thing doesn't have enough fuel to make land. Must be an enemy vessel out here somewhere; and they'll definitely fire on us when they figure out we're not their friends."

"Gibbs? I think I see another vessel at four o'clock," said Ziva. "But I am not certain."

"Tony, any detail on yours yet?"

"Could be a destroyer, boss, but I'm not one hundred percent sure."

"Then get sure, DiNozzo. McGee; there any way we can contact MTAC?"

"Out here? I'm down to a laptop and a cell phone, boss. Not enough power for a satellite link. Can't be done."

"Then improvise, McGee. Look around; might be something you can use."

"Gibbs, there is definitely a second ship, said Ziva. And it's coming in fast."

"Tell me what you see, DiNozzo."

"Uh, a grey blob with a smaller blob on top, boss. Hard to tell at this distance, but I think she's pretty big and she has a military profile. Not closing up very fast."

"Ziva?"

"Fairly small, very speedy. Low to the water; no big comms tower."

Gibbs made his decision and swung the helm towards Tony's ship, opening the throttle further. "We head for the bigger ship; it's more likely to be Navy. When the Russians see it, they'll run before they get blown up too."

"Oh, God," moaned McGee, as the sharp turn toppled him to the deck. He was looking very green. "I'm gonna puke again," he said miserably. "I left my Dramamine on the Chimera."

"It still amazes me that someone with acute seasickness would choose to work for the Navy," remarked Ziva, keeping watch on the smaller vessel.

"I'm just hoping he has to do a stint as an agent afloat someday," Tony grinned. "The crew'll call him Fishfood McGee." Ziva chuckled.

"Really, you two; you shouldn't make fun of poor Timothy," Ducky admonished them, helping the young agent to the side. "Many great men have suffered from seasickness. Admiral Lord Nelson, Sir Walter Raleigh. Charles Darwin, on his five year round trip aboard HMS Beagle, was permanently nauseous even in the calmest weather; when it was rough he'd be bedridden for days, vomiting until his oesophagus bled..."

McGee leaned over the rail, making indescribable sounds.

"Somehow, Ducky, I don't think that helped," said Tony.

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The destroyer had lowered some ropes to hoist the boat on board; a couple of crew in full biohazard gear slid down them to attach them.

"Try to look like you're not dying horribly, willya, McGee?" Said Tony.

"Indeed you can, my dear. Dehydration is the major cause of death; the sufferer cannot absorb even water without bringing it up again almost immediately. And then there is the disease that can be caused by people lying around in their own vomit, sometimes for days, and succumbing to infection. I remember a case many years ago when…"

"Ducky, please," begged McGee.

"Oh, I do apologise, Timothy. Perhaps another time might be more appropriate."

"Yes! On dry land! When I'm not there!"

"Quit torturing McGee," said Gibbs. "We're about to be taken on board.

"Is this a good time to mention the best pirate movie ever made; the Muppet's Treasure Island?" Asked Tony.

Gibbs gave him a Look.

"Guess not."

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The five members of the team and Midas the cook were brought on board, hosed down and made to shower before being given grey sweats to wear and moved to sickbay. Two medical corpsmen, again in hazmat suits, began to take blood samples and thumbprints from each of them. They also gave each patient a brief medical check up, taking their heart rates, blood pressure and temperature.

"Would it be possible for you to attach a saline and anti-emetic drip to Agent McGee over there?" Asked Ducky, as he was being processed. "I'm afraid the poor boy suffers from terrible seasickness; he's very dehydrated."

"All of you will be hooked up to saline IVs, Doctor," said Clarke, one of the medics. "I'll have to ask Dr Hansen about the anti-emetic."

"What?" Said Tony, who was next in line, looking panicky. "No frickin way!"

"You'll do as you're told, DiNozzo," warned Gibbs.

"No, boss! I swore the last time I'd never let anyone stick one of those torture devices in me again. I'd rather kiss McGee, even after all the puking."

"What's the big deal, Tony? It's only an IV; it doesn't hurt," said Ziva.

"You try pulling the damn thing out every hour because you have to sit up to cough the blood out of your lungs, Ziva," Tony snapped. "That hurts!"

"Panicking is not going to help, Tony," said Gibbs.

"I'm not panicking, boss; I'm stating a fact. You can glare at me all you want; it's not gonna happen. I can let them take blood, but I can't take an IV again."

"I'll speak to Dr Hansen about your phobia, sir," said Simmonds. "Perhaps we can make an exception."

"Thank you," said Tony sincerely. He rolled up his sleeve, clenched his jaw and scrunched his eyes closed as the needle was slipped into his vein, every muscle tensed.

"We'll be back shortly to start the IVs," said Clarke. "Try to rest."

The whole team and Midas were all sitting or lying on their beds except Tony, who prowled the room like a caged tiger.

"Yes, boss," said Tony, reluctantly moving over to his bed and perching on the edge, watching the door like a hawk.

He jumped up again when it was opened by a middle aged man followed by the two corpsmen with a trolley of equipment.

"Good afternoon, lady and gentlemen; I am Dr Hansen; I'll be in charge of your care while you're aboard. Now, which of you is Agent McGee?"

"That's me," said McGee, sounding like he very much wished it wasn't.

"I'm afraid I can't give you anything for your nausea until the blood tests are back," the Doctor told him. "But the saline should make you feel a little better. Clarke and Simmonds will get you all started with your IVs; a solution of saline and prophylactics that will help if any of you prove to be infected. Now, which is Agent DiNozzo?"

"Over here," said Tony warily.

"Are you sure you won't let us put in a line?" Asked Hansen. "It would make your treatment a lot easier for everyone..."

"No, Doc," said Tony firmly. "I said no and I meant it. I'm happy to sign any waivers you want."

"That won't be necessary. All right; if you insist, I can give your prophylactics as a shot." He lifted a large syringe from the trolley. "But you're going to be taking a lot of injections."

"Injections I can live with. IVs I can't," said Tony, rolling his sleeve up again.

"It would be better if we alternated injection sites," said Hansen. "Lie down, please." Grudgingly, Tony did so, trying not to listen to Ziva sniggering. Hansen pulled down his pants a little way, sterilised the site and emptied the syringe into his butt.

"There," he said. "I'll be back in thirty minutes to check up on all of you. Any changes in blood pressure, pulse or temperature could be an indication of disease, so we'll be recording them every half hour. If at any time any of you feel unwell, hit the panic button on the wall over there and we'll come running. In the mean time, please try to rest."

"There any chance I can call my Director and tell her we're alive, Doctor?" Asked Gibbs.

"I'm afraid non- secure communication is not allowed on this ship; but I'm sure she's been officially notified."

The minute the three medics had left, Tony was back on his feet and pacing again.

"Tony, Dr Hansen told you to rest," said Ducky, exasperatedly. "And I must say I concur. You look exhausted."